[Hearing the words make his chest constrict. Letting her go had been both one of the easiest and most difficult things he’s done in his life. Easy, because he always wants her to find her freedom and purpose above all else. Difficult because it meant not seeing her every day. It’s like losing one of his limbs, an invisible one he’s relied upon for years. If he feels that loss so keenly, he can imagine it’s harder for her to not have any of the Crows around regularly.]


It is strange. I don’t really know where to start sometimes, either. [So much of what goes on he can’t commit to writing anyway, it’s too dangerous. It’s risky enough to write, he’s not going to detail intimate crimes. Even talking over this device, it’s not the same though he feels safer in sharing the less lawful elements.]


It’s something, though. To know you’re doing okay. Or if you're ever not. You can let me know that, too.

[He's so used to just reading her body, and now he can read her voice, to know if her day went well or not, but it's still not the same.] Even if it's just that you didn't catch any fish. Or worse.

If you just want to talk.

You can let me know.